Rosie and the Witch's Cauldron
by wisterian
Summary: Rosie thought she knew everything about Mom. When Rosie moves into her mother's childhood home she discovers fantastical secrets that she had never imagined possible. She isn't prepared when all those secrets challenge everything she thought she knew.
1. The Moving Picture

1: The Moving Picture

Rosie didn't want to sit any longer. The plane was stuffy and cold. Dinner was gross. Mom always liked airline food. Especially the small packets of butter and the dinner roll.

Rosie already finished her book and watched two movies. She opened the small window and uncomfortably bright sunlit infiltrated Rosie's row. She squinted and peered out. Still just clouds.

"How much longer now, Grandmother?" Rosie asked for the third time. Grandmother was sleeping with a mask wrap around her head. Or pretending to sleep, Rosie thought dryly. Rosie closed the window.

Rosie had flown across the Atlantic twice before, but she forgotten how long and boring air travel was. At least this would be the last time. There was no reason for her to go back to Vancouver Island, Mom was dead and Dad was somewhere on the mainland. Maybe she'd go back when she grew up. Maybe she would get her and Mom's house back. The house on Moss Street. With the white siding and red roof. Last year she and Mom painted a mural on the kitchen wall behind the table. Rosie painted huge flowers, copying her favourite ones from the garden. Sunflowers, hydrangeas, and day lilies. Mom painted curious creatures hiding behind the giant flowers. They had spindly legs and large floppy bat ears.

"What are those things?" Rosie asked, looking critically at the batty, grey creature peeking from behind the pink peony.

"They are Elves," Mom said, "they are very good at hiding, as you can see."

"They're creepy," Rosie protested, "you should paint butterflies instead, they are prettier."

"Yes, but Elves make better friends," Mom replied, finishing the yellow sock she had painted on the Elf's left foot, "if you can find one, of course." Rosie rolled her eyes, Mom always talked about make believe like it was real. Once after a few glasses of wine, she told Rosie that Dragon blood was a great oven cleaner. Rosie was getting too old for that, she was nearly ten after all.

Rosie bitterly thought that the new homeowners probably painted over the mural.

"Grandmother," Rosie said, aware she was being annoying but suddenly needing to know, "what did you do with Mom's plants?" Mom had a large pantry in the basement of the Moss Street House, filled with shelves from top to bottom. Every shelf was stocked with glass jars. Every glass jar was filled with a specimen of various flowers and fungi that Mom had collected from around the Island. Rosie loved the Botany Collection. She had helped stock it and labeled every specimen with its Latin name.

Grandmother took her mask off, conceding that she would get no sleep with the nervous ten year old beside her.

"We donated them to the Department of Biology at the university. It was an impressive collection, according to the Dean." Grandmother told Rosie.

Her heart dropped a little, Rosie wanted to bring the Botany Collection to England.

Grandmother noticed Rosie's disappointment and added, "Grandfather is setting up a new pantry in the basement for you to fill up."

Rosie didn't know what to say, so she slammed her headphones on, her eyes filling up unexpectedly with stinging tears. She was already so far from the Island, from the Moss Street House and the beaches and the woods. For her last birthday, Mom prepared a picnic lunch and they walked through the woods to a secluded beach. The forest were always the best during her March birthday. The ground had erupted in wildflowers and the trees were higher than she could see and thicker across than she was tall. Thick, green moss covered every inch of every tree. Rosie carefully clipped a small piece of moss from a tree and placed it in her plastic lunchbox. She would inspect it and identify it later at home.

"Rosie," Mom broke the silence of their hike, "come look at these flowers!" Rosie hurried over to the small cluster of white flowers. Mom was taking pictures with her clunky old film camera. Once, when Rosie was little and her parents were still married, Dad bought Mom a digital camera, explaining how efficient it was to store photos digitally rather than developing everything. Mom, as usual, stubbornly refused, stating that her film camera took perfectly lovely pictures. She framed her favourites and hung them all over the house. Nearly every wall was filled with photographs of plants and portraits of Rosie.

Rosie observed the flowers as Mom had taught her. The flowers grew from the stem of the plant. They were white with a yellow gland. Rosie smelled them. Vanilla.

"I think it's an orchid." Rosie guessed.

"Well done Rosie," Mom praised, "they are called Snow Orchids," she said and frowning slightly added, "there are hardly any of them left in the world."

Rosie sat down on the ground, carefully avoiding any flowers. She pulled the Flora Reference Guide of Western Canada out of her backpack and looked it up in the index.

"It needs really old forests to live in," Rosie reported to her mother.

"Indeed," Mom said, "and those are also endangered."

"Are we going to take a specimen for the Botany Collection?"

"Not this time Rosie girl," Mom replied, standing up and holding out her hand for Rosie to take.

They walked towards the beach to eat sandwiches and birthday cake. Rosie looked back and noticed there were many more flowers than she previously thought. The area behind them was teeming with the delicate white flowers, shimmering in the bright afternoon sun.

* * *

Rosie woke up confused, unable to register where she was for a few moments. Mops the Bloodhound gave her hand a few slobbery licks, 'oh right', Rosie remembered, 'she was in England.' Rosie flopped over to give him a pet behind his ears. Yawning largely, Rosie watched a Robin eating on the bird feeder outside her window.

"Rosie, darling, breakfast is nearly ready." Grandmother poked her head into the room, "why don't you come down and take a shower. I've put some clothes in the bathroom for you."

Rosie agreed and pulled herself out of bed. She was too tired last night to notice, but she realized that she was in her mother's old room. She and Mom had visited last summer. They hung a sheet over the bed to make a fort and Mom told Rosie stories of her childhood. Like the time Mom tried to climb down the tree outside the window and instead broke her ankle. Or how she hid snacks from her parents in the slanted ceiling, behind a print of Van Gogh's Sunflowers.

"Grandmother and Grandfather were dentists, you know." Mom told her, "Sugar was absolutely forbidden, but my school friends always gave me sweets at Christmas. My friend hid his treasures under a loose floorboard, which I thought was brilliant, so I found my own secret spot."

Mom's small bedroom was in the top corner of the old cottage. The roof was slanted over the bed. A window was on the far end of the room and the flat wall had bookshelves along the entire length. The walls were made from whitewashed boards and a thick braided rug was on the floor. Someone, presumably Grandfather, had put some flowers on the dresser. Also on the dresser were pictures of Mom from her school days, wearing a school uniform, smiling with her friends. Rosie could almost imagine her mother sitting beside her on the bed.

She went downstairs into the bathroom at the back. She came in for breakfast dressed in a stripped tank top and cargo pants with her wavy brown hair wet around her shoulders.

"Good morning," Grandmother said from the oak table in the front room. She poured Rosie a large glass of orange juice and placed two hard boiled eggs and some fruit on her plate. "How do you like your room?" She asked, "we have another room if you would rather not sleep in your mom's old one."

"No!" Rosie quickly said, "I like Mom's room."

"Splendid!" Grandfather interjected cheerfully. "Why don't you go unpack your things and then we can walk to the park if you'd like."

* * *

"When your Mom was a little girl, we used to fly kites in this park every weekend." Grandfather said, as they laid on the grass with the kite flapping above them. "One summer we handmade a kite. Your mom cut out clouds, she insisted they were cumulous, to decorate it.

"Do you still have it?" Rosie asked, turning onto her side to face Grandfather, spotting a bit of wetness in the corner of his eye.

"No," said Grandfather sadly, "me and Grandmother moved to Australia when your mother was in her last year of school, and it was lost there."

Rosie didn't know they had lived in Australia. Mom never told her that.

"But Mom lived in the house when she was little, didn't she? Why didn't you sell the house?"

"Yes, we did move" Grandfather said, "but, we never sold the house. And good thing too! We have so many wonderful memories of your mother in that house, and now we get to live there with you."

Rosie gave a wavering smile. She didn't know much about Australia other than all the snakes and spiders. When Rosie was seven, Mom took her to the Vancouver Zoo and they spent a lot of time in the snake house.

Mom said, "my school friend once told me a story about a boy who could talk to snakes. He told a big Boa Constrictor to chase a bully at the zoo.

Rosie giggled, then asked seriously, "What would a snake talk about?"

Mom laughed, "according to the story, the Boa Constrictor was off to Brazil to find his family. But otherwise I imagine snakes talk about tasty mice and warm rocks."

"What do you think dogs would say if they could talk?" Rosie asked, things of her Grandparents' dog Mops.

"They would probably just talk about how much they love you and how many bones they have hidden," Mom said. "If I could talk to any animal it would be an owl," she added after a pause.

"Why? Owls aren't friendly at all." Rosie knew that owls ate house cats and had big, vicious talons.

"Well, everyone knows how wise owls are, maybe they could give you some good advice." Mom said contemplatively. Rosie's memory of her mother that day at the zoo was fresh in her mind, even three years later. She was wearing a red dress with thin straps and white sneakers. Her long brown hair tumbled in wild curls down her back. Her eyes were always on Rosie, golden coloured and serious.

When they went home after the zoo, Dad didn't live in the Moss Street House any more.

Rosie sniffed back her sadness. Thinking too much about Mom made her stomach feel bad. Grandfather stood up, brought in the kites and took Rosie's hand in his.

* * *

After a mostly silent lunch, Rosie went in her new room. She sullenly sat on her bed and looked at the garden through her window. Grandmother brought some photo albums to look through, 'if she felt up to it.' Lying on her stomach on the pink woollen blanket, Rosie flipped through the pictures. Her mom as a little girl, with a dirty face, sly smile and wild hair. Mom with the same two boys from the dresser pictures, wrapped up in stripped scarves laughing together, looking like she didn't have any worries at all. Mom dressed up in front of Christmas tree. Mom with her old cat, snuggled up together with a book. Mom between Grandfather and Grandmother at her graduation. Mom and Dad's wedding, her parents staring at each other with an look of adoration Rosie couldn't remember ever seeing. A picture of Mom holding a baby, Rosie probably, smiling so serenely. Rosie shut the album suddenly, unable to look for a second longer.

She angrily pushed the book off the bed, letting it fall on the floor. Hoping for a good distraction, she looked towards her mother's books and spotted a battered fat one with a ribbon. It looked like it might be full of fairy tales. She stretched over to grab it. Only the tips of her fingers could reach the book. Her finger hooked onto the edge and the book flipped off the shelf, onto the floor and landed open on its spine. Tucked into the pages of the book was another picture. Rosie picked it up and flipped it over. The picture was of Mom standing by a lake, with books in her arms and a smile on her lips. Then, Mom moved.

Rosie jumped and dropped the picture. Pictures don't move. Unless it was some sort of computer. Rosie picked it up again to inspect it better. Rosie could find nothing unusual, just paper and ink. Her mother was smiling and waving, a breeze blowing her curly hair into her face. Rosie was transfixed. Then somebody else was there. A tall boy with red hair and freckles jumped into the frame. He squeezed Mom, one arm wrapped around her waist, and leaned down to kiss her cheek, causing Mom to drop all her books and scowl at the boy. He grinned widely, and bent over to pick them up. Rosie watched the short scene replay over and over. Her mother was so alive, so young. She wore the same school uniform Rosie had seen in so many other pictures, with a red and gold lion stitched on the breast. Rosie turned the picture over. Scrawled in Mom's precise handwriting _May 1998._

Rosie tucked the picture back inside the book of fairy tales. However mysterious The Moving Picture was, Rosie wasn't overly concerned about it. It was Mom's secret, after all, and she was happy to keep it safe.


	2. The Very Old Book

2: The Very Old Book

Rosie was called to set the table for dinner. She went down the stairs into the porch and turned left into the front room. The front room was connected to the kitchen in the back and the porch in the front. Bookshelves lined the interior west wall and lace curtains decorated the big front window. Mops slept on the window seat on an old blanket. A big hutch sat at the back of the room where she retrieved the dishes with flowers painted on the edges and placed them on the wooden table in the centre of the room. As Rosie prepared the table, she contemplated the mysterious picture tucked away in her bedroom. Rosie thought it made sense for Mom to have some secrets. Rosie knew that Mom was different from other people; cleverer and secretive, Mom was the keeper of all knowledge and mystery.

"The world is unknowable Rosie," Mom would tell her, "sometimes it is better to just accept the mystery rather than trying to know every little thing." Rosie was rarely satisfied with such vague explanations of the world's mysteries and would press her mother for more. She liked finding out _why_. Mom always knew the _why_ of things, even though she sometimes pretended not to. Rosie wondered how Mom would explain The Moving Picture.

At dinner, her grandparents explained Rosie's chores and expectations. Rosie was expected to keep her room clean, help Grandmother in the garden, set and clear the table at dinner, and get good grades in school. Rosie was used to having lots of chores, she and Mom did just about everything together, including housework. Good grades in school might be a bit more of a challenge, Rosie thought wearily. Grandmother also explained that she had a disease called arthritis and sometimes her joints were sore and stiff. On days when Grandmother was especially sore Rosie would have to help her extra.

"Does this mean you are sick?" Rosie asked worriedly, "will you have to go to the hospital?" Rosie was decidedly not a fan of hospitals.

"No, darling," Grandmother softly explained, "I will be fine, just a little slow and sore sometimes."

"What about last summer? You weren't sore then, were you?" Rosie protested, not liking the thought of her Grandmother sore and bed-ridden at all. Last summer Rosie and Mom and her grandparents had walked along the English shore for a whole week. Grandmother let out a short breath, and looked at Grandfather imploringly.

"Your Mom made a very good medicine for Grandmother using some of those plants she had. We don't know anyone else who can make it." Grandfather explained.

"Don't fret Rosie, I will be fine most days." Grandmother said consolingly, "Let's clear the dinner table and then you should call your father."

* * *

Rosie sat on the green velvet couch in the small sitting room across from the front room. She opened the laptop and called Dad on FaceTime.

"Rosie! Baby!" Dad greeted her with a big smile, his green eyes crinkling on the computer screen. He looked more tanned than when she last saw him and his blonde hair was lighter from the summer sun. "How is England? Have you settled in?" Rosie dutifully answered her father's questions, pushing down the slight bitterness she felt towards him, but lacking the words to express her conflicted feelings.

During a lull in the conversation, Rosie swallowed her nerves and asked him, "Do you know anything about the school Mom went to in England? I found this picture of her and this boy and…"

"Oh Rosie, your mother and I never spoke much about her life before she moved to Canada," Dad interrupted her, "she had a difficult few years at school and never talked about it."

"But the picture is really weird Dad, can I show you?"

"Maybe another time Rose, I have to get ready for work. Put on one of your grandparents for me will you?"

"Alright Dad, see you later." She stood up and walked away from the screen.

"Love you Rosie!" She heard him call at her back, a few seconds later.

Rosie was perturbed, she should not have brought it up with Dad. He didn't like to talk about Mom at all. He was probably still mad at her. Thinking back on what she knew of Mom's childhood, she realized that Mom hadn't told her anything about her school days. Rosie only knew she went to a boarding school, then moved to Canada to attend university. Yet, there were so many pictures of Mom with her two friends, a boy with messy black hair and glasses, and the red headed boy who kissed her cheek. Rosie thought about Mom's funeral, the two boys weren't there, she was sure. Did Mom's they know she died?

* * *

Grandmother was retired and Grandfather taught dentistry at a university that was out for summer so they had lots of time together before Rosie started school. Rosie suspected they were keeping her busy so she would have less time to dwell on Mom. The family went to the London Zoo to Rosie's delight and drove to the shore. They shopped in local markets and stopped in some of Mom's favourite bookshops. Rosie found a botany book about native species to the British Isles and, thinking about Grandmother's arthritis, a book about using plants as medicines. Maybe she would start another Botany Collection after all.

One warm August evening Rosie and Grandfather went back to the park. Rosie took her red canvas backpack, which held her botany tools and books and had a handy number of secret pockets. The park was just behind the cottage and had heavily forested areas as well as impeccably maintained flowerbeds and lawns. Rosie preferred the forest. They walked through the woods together and collected many new specimens which she dutifully stored inside her plastic lunchbox. Later she would use her reference books to carefully write out the Latin name for each plant on a label and organize them into glass jars. Grandfather cleared out some space in the root cellar for Rosie's New Botany Collection.

"Grandfather," Rosie tentatively brought up the subject occupying her thoughts lately, "all those pictures in Mom's room, they all have the same two boys in them."

"They do." Grandfather replied as he passed her a piece of bark he ripped from a tall Ash tree.

"Do they know… about Mom?" She quietly asked, taking the bark and placing into the lunchbox. Grandfather was silent for a moment. Rosie hardly ever acknowledged her mother's death.

"I don't know, your Mom hadn't been in contact with her old friends for many years."

"But don't you think they should know?" She asked earnestly, "it looks like they were her best friends."

Grandfather was quiet for another long moment. Finally, he looked directly as Rosie and told her, "some things are better left in the past, and besides, I have no idea how to contact them."

They had arrived on the manicured lawn. Grandfather pulled out the new kite from his own backpack and passed it to his granddaughter. He had sewn the new kite together, and Rosie cut out fabric in the shape of maple leaves to decorate it. They had spent three evenings putting it together, and Rosie was very excited about its first flight.

She ran on the grass with the kite until she was far enough away. Grandfather held the string on the other end.

"Ready?" He yelled.

"Yep!" Rosie launched the kite, throwing it as hard as she could, Grandfather started running to get it into the air. Soon it was flying high above them. Grandfather passed Rosie the string and she made the kite do figure eights and big swoops as Grandfather cheered her technique.

"Careful of those trees now," Grandfather warned, but it was too late. The kite string had wrapped itself around one of the top branches of the tall tree. Grandfather groaned a little.

"Crap!" Rosie yelled. "How are we gonna get it down?"

"Rosie, language." Grandfather softly chided. "Not to worry, maybe we can dislodge it." But Grandfather could not get it down. The more he tried the more stuck it got.

"Let me try!" Rosie had a hard time keeping the frustration out of her voice. She tugged on the kite string as hard as she could, wishing it would just come down already! The string became loose and the kite flitted softly to the ground.

"I did it!" She exclaimed, and ran over to claim it. Grandfather watched her run merrily towards the kite, his eyes betraying some of the trepidation he felt.

That night when Rosie was tucked into bed, she reached over to the bookcase and pulled out the fairy tale book. She gazed at the picture of her mother and Redboy, as she called him, and watched her mother closely. Her expressions were so familiar to Rosie. The smile she used when she posed for pictures and the scowl she made when she wasn't actually mad. Downstairs she heard her Grandparents talking. Arguing maybe, their voices lower than usual but tenser. Rosie tossed the fairy book aside, hid The Moving Picture under her pillow and crept across her room into the upstairs hallway. She sat softly on the top step to hopefully overhear their argument. Rosie knew eavesdropping was rude, but she was sure she wouldn't get caught.

"…Teresa, I'm sure of it," Grandfather was saying, "there was no way that kite could have come down like that, it was completely tangled."

"But Hermione assured us it wasn't possible," her Grandmother said tersely, "maybe it was just a coincidence."

"Maybe Hermione knew something she didn't tell us," Grandfather said stubbornly, "I was just about to tell Rosie that we probably couldn't get it back, then lo and behold, the second she holds the string the kite becomes untangled. Not a coincidence."

"Hermione was certain!" Grandmother snapped, "let's trust our daughter and not jump to conclusions." Grandfather said nothing else, neither did Grandmother. Rosie listened to the silence for a moment longer, then heard Grandfather rise from the creaky couch prompting her to sneak back into her room.

Rosie replayed the conversation in her head. What wasn't possible? She hugged her pillow and remembered The Moving Picture she had stuffed underneath. She reached over to the book of fairy tales to put it away.

Leaning against her feather pillow with her knees up, she placed the small tome on her legs. She stared at the cover for a full minute, seeing it as if for the first time. _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ The book was very old, with strange designs on the cover. She had never noticed the book before, yet she had been using it to store The Moving Picture for weeks! It's like she had never properly looked at it. Now she could see it clearly. She ran her fingers over the designs pressed into the leather cover. She had never heard of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and she thought she knew most fairy tales. Rosie opened the book slowly, taking special care of the very old book, shuddering when she remembered how callously she treated it before.

The book wasn't in English, Rosie disappointedly noted. The letters didn't look like anything she had ever seen. No regular alphabet letters, just strange shapes and lines. She flipped through the book, hoping to find something she could understand. At the end of the first story (Rosie guessed it was a story, at least), she spotted soft pencil markings in the margins. She understood that very well. It was Mom's handwriting, but very small and nearly faded away. She brought the book close to her lamp. Rosie read it in Mom's voice: _in most post 1689 versions of the story the cauldron protects the wizard against violent muggles._

Rosie flopped into her pillow, her head spinning once again. Wizards? Cauldrons? Muggles? What was this book? Her mother could read the strange writing apparently. Mom did like fairy tales quite a lot, Rosie reasoned. Mom probably did some research or something on The Very Old Book in university.

Tomorrow Rosie would look through her mother's books. Maybe she could find a copy of the book in English. She could also research the book online or at the library. Happy with her resolution, Rosie fell asleep, totally forgetting about her grandparent's confusing conversation.


	3. The Librarian and the Squib

3: The Librarian and the Squib

After breakfast the next morning Rosie scoured all the bookshelves in her room, the shelves in the sitting room and in the front room. Grandmother sat at the table, drinking tea as Rosie diligently searched the shelves for anything that might be related to Beedle the Bard.

"Rosie, what are you looking for?" Grandmother asked, gently setting down her tea, "May I help"

"No!" Rosie said, "thanks though," she added quickly. She wanted to figure it out on her own, it was her and Mom's secret. She thought her mother might have left something else in the house, but she ought to check at the library. "I'm just seeing what books you have," she fibbed to Grandmother, smiling cheekily before she ran out the door yelling, "I'm going to the library!"

Grandmother shouted after her, "Please be back in an hour!"

* * *

The library in the village was much smaller than the library at home Rosie noticed unhappily. She locked her bike outside and wandered into the stone building. The Librarian behind the counter smiled broadly at her as she entered. He wore a pair of big glasses and a crisp yellow shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.

"Good Morning!"

"Morning," Rosie replied. She started to walk past him, trying to avoid his eager grin and continue her secret search.

"What may I do for you today?" He asked her before she could get away.

"Nothing," she said, "well, maybe. I am looking for this book called _The Tales of Beedle the Bard."_ She shared the object of her quest. She didn't know him so it wasn't really like sharing Mom's secret.

"Okay!" He said, and went back to his computer. Rosie waited for a few moments while he did some research. "Hmm. I don't see any record of that book. Are you sure that's the title?"

"Yes. Very sure." She replied stiffly, obviously she knew the title of the book she was looking for.

"I looked through our catalogue and the London library's database as well and I can't find any information on Beedle the Bard." Rosie considered that excitedly. It must be a very rare book.

"Wait a minute," the Librarian said, "I searched on Google." Ugh, Rosie can't believe she forgot to do that at the cottage. She blamed Mom for her total lack of technological instincts. Mom didn't even have a computer.

"What did you find?" Rosie reached her neck around the counter hoping to get a look at the computer. The Librarian turned the computer screen so she could see.

"Somebody named Woodrow Wallington wrote an article in an online newspaper and mentioned Beedle the Bard." Rosie giggled at the name. The Librarian raised his eyebrows at her and chuckled too. He maximized the article so they both could read it. The newspaper was called _The Squib Squabble._ Rosie had no idea was a squib was, and according to the Librarian's audible 'hmms' she assumed he didn't know either.

 _Tall Tales for the New Emigrant_

 _To my Dearest Readers, Welcome back to the WORLD WIDE WEB! What a marvellous and miraculous invention. For a brief overview of how the WORLD WIDE WEB works, please simply click on the first underlined sentence below, it will guide you to another article. Today, on The Squib Squabble, I shall offer you an overview of fairy tales, yarns, whoppers, and myths that are essential for harmonious understandings with our neighbours. Again, I have provided more links (underlined sentences) which will direct you to these stories. Some are similar to our beloved Beedle the Bard, others are stories and jokes people tell each other, that everyone knows, as long as you are told._

 _Good Fortune to you all!_

 _Most Sincerely, Mr. Woodrow Wallington_

"How incredibly curious," the Librarian said after a few minutes. Curious? Rosie thought she could come up with more accurate words to describe that article.

"What's a squib?" Rosie tried her luck, maybe the Librarian did know after all.

"I have no idea," he said and asked her, "who needs a guide of fairy tales and stories?"

"It says its for new Emigrants," Rosie said, "that means somebody that moves somewhere else, right?"

"Right you are," he said, "yet this is an English paper, based out of London. You would think they have already heard most of these stories." He clicked on one of the many links listed. He was directed to , where he could buy a copy of the film _Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs._

"What a delightful mystery!" The Librarian exclaimed, standing up. "But it hasn't helped you out very much has it?"

"Not much," Rosie replied, "but maybe I can ask Woodrow Wallington."

"A very fine idea," the Librarian said, "In fact, his telephone number is listed on the website. Would you like to use the library phone?"

"Yes!" Rosie was getting excited.

The telephone was picked up after the first ring.

"Hello!" A man with a lyrical voice answered, "This is the telephone line of Woodrow Wallington, and who might you be?"

"Uhh, this is Rosie Shepherd, Mr. Wallington," Rosie tried to remember the phone manners Grandmother lectured her on. "I am calling to ask you about an article you wrote in the _Squib Squabble._ "

"Oohoo! A reader response, how delightful!" Woodrow said excitedly, "please go on."

"Can you tell me anything about _Beedle the Bard?_ You mention it in an article but don't explain what it is." Rosie inquired, using her politest voice.

"You have never heard the name before?" He asked reservedly.

"No, not exactly. I found an old book of my mothers with the name on the cover, but the writing inside isn't English and I want to know what the book is about."

"Well child, why don't you ask your mother? I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say unless, that is, you already know."

"Uhm, she's not around anymore." Rosie said in a small voice, but determinedly asked again, "can't you tell me anything? Please?" Mr. Wallington sighed, and was silent again for half a moment.

"Okay Rosie, here's what we shall do. Are you close to London?"

"Yes, just a train ride away."

"Superb!" He said, "Why don't you talk to your guardian and get escorted to London and we shall meet at the Cafe Paris, on Charing Cross Road, in one week from today at 2:00 pm. Make sure to bring your book, young one." Then he promptly hung up the phone. Rosie stood still for a moment, contemplating the strange conversation she just had.

"So?" Prompted the Librarian.

"He didn't tell me anything!" She pouted, "He said he couldn't say unless I already knew."

"How very mysterious." The Librarian replied with a grin. Rosie scowled at him.

"I should go home now, my grandmother wants me back soon. Thanks for your help." She said quickly, and walked out the door.

* * *

"How was the library sweetheart?" Grandmother was still sitting at the table, drinking another cup of tea listening to very loud classical music.

"It was okay," Rosie said, "The Librarian seems nice."

"Yes, he is nice. He is your cousin." Grandmother said as she walked over to the turntable to turn the music down.

"Really? He didn't tell me that!"

"Well, did you tell him who you are?"

"No," Rosie giggled, "What's his name?"

"Renny Granger, he's your mom's first cousin. His mother is Grandfather's sister," Grandmother explained. "We can have them over for dinner this weekend if you like." Rosie decided she would like that very much.

* * *

That Saturday afternoon, Rosie was helping Grandmother pick beetroots from the garden for dinner. Rosie was wearing a pair of jean shorts with ragged edges and a loose button-up yellow shirt. She had her plastic see-through fanny pack strapped on, for portable plant acquisitions. Her job was to collected the beets harvested by Grandmother and separate the greens from the root and place them in separate baskets. She placed a beet green into her pack.

"Come here Rose," Grandmother said, "help me up please." Rosie obliged, already used to helping Grandmother move around.

"I've been reading a book about natural medicines," Rosie told Grandmother. "Do you know what Mom used in the medicine that she made for you? Maybe I could make it, I've been collecting plants all summer."

"That's a very kind offer Rosie," Grandmother said, "You could certainly try, but I'm afraid I don't know what she used." Rosie figured as much. Mom was a Doctor of Plant Biology after all, she knew a whole lot about plants. Probably more than anybody else in the world, Rosie thought proudly.

They strolled around the garden, leaving the beets by the kitchen door. The large garden had two apple trees, a pear tree and a giant vegetable garden. Rose bushes were planted around the house and garden shed. The back of the garden led into the forested park which eventually smoothed into lush grass and lawn bowling. Rosie approached the sunflowers that had spurted up drastically over the last weeks, she was waiting for them to start blooming.

"Maybe next week they'll bloom." Grandmother said. "Your mother also loved sunflowers," she added, "once when she was five, the sunflowers she planted grew to be taller than everything else in the garden. Taller than even the house! People from all over town came over to see them."

"Really?" Rosie smiled, she could see it in her mind, her mother as a little girl, incredibly smug, showing off her flowers. She looked at Grandmother, who was smiling wistfully.

"It was incredible. Has anything like that ever happened to you? Something fantastical or magical?" Grandmother asked. Rosie thought about it. Her mind went immediately to The Moving Picture and The Very Old Book. She didn't want to share her Mom's secrets yet.

"No, nothing like that," Rosie finally said, "Mom was special, wasn't she?" Grandmother ran her fingers through Rosie's hair and let out out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"She was," Grandmother replied, "and so are you."

* * *

Rosie was instructed to put a 'nice' outfit on for dinner with her cousin and great aunt. In her room she looked at the options Grandmother had laid out. Either a blue and white sundress or a brown skirt with a pink blouse. Rosie didn't like dressing up, Mom never made her wear dresses. Rosie liked pants with big pockets and big soft shirts. She decided on a compromise and put on the pink blouse with her raggedy jean shorts. She even pulled her wavy brown hair into a pink ribbon, Grandmother would love that.

"Rosie, please go back upstairs and change before our guests arrive." Grandmother said the moment Rosie stepped into the front room. Rosie groaned loudly.

"Do I have to? I put a ribbon in my hair," She twirled around to present it. Grandmother had opened her mouth to argue when the doorbell rang.

"Fine, please set the table," Grandmother said as she went to open the door, adding "your ribbon is lovely."

Grandfather came in from his study, brushing Rosie's arm affectionately as he passed her, and placed a bottle of wine on the table as he greeted their guests.

Renny, her cousin the Librarian, came to greet Rosie as she set out the dishes. He was wearing a different, but equally yellow shirt.

"Hello there little cousin," he said cheerily and passed her a wrapped gift, obviously a book. Rosie smiled brightly at him and tore open the present. It was called _The Fairies History of Fairy Tales._ Rosie flipped through it. In it were stories she had never heard before and historical explanations of folklore with beautiful illustrations.

"Thank you!"

"How goes your mystery?" He asked, with genuine curiosity, unlike the fake curiosity adults so often displayed when speaking with children.

"Shh! Not so loud!" Rosie said, making sure her grandparents didn't overhear.

"Oooh! A secret mystery," Renny nearly shouted, Rosie scowled at him. He grinned and then whispered, "my favourite kind."

"Mr. Wallington wants me to come to London to meet up with him on Wednesday. But I haven't told my grandparents anything about this so I can't go." Rosie whispered quickly.

"Ah, yes, very typical secret mystery kind of business," Renny said, "Don't worry cousin, let me handle it." Grandmother and Grandfather walked into the room with an old lady with pink hair wearing a white sundress.

"Hello Rosie dear, I am your Auntie Emily. It is very nice to meet you," she said holding out her hand. Rosie shook it dutifully.

"Hello Auntie Emily, it's nice to meet you too," Rosie politely said. Grandfather had cooked a delicious meal, roast beef with roasted beets, carrots and onions, all fresh from the garden. When Grandmother brought out an apple pie for dessert, Renny spoke up.

"Aunt Terry," he began, "there is a children's book fair next week in London. If you are amenable, I would love to take Rosie with me. She can help me pick out new books for the library." Rosie looked up at him with a sly smile.

"Rosie, would you like to go with Renny to London?" Grandmother asked her.

"Yes!" Rosie immediately responded.

* * *

Later, in bed under the pink blanket, Rosie was warm and full and happy. She looked through her new fairy book and for the first time since Mom died, her stomach felt lighter and her head felt clearer. Maybe it would be okay living here after all, she thought. She opened The Very Old Book and pulled out The Moving Picture. Mom's smile was still the same, Redboy came in to irritate her and they seemed, as far as Rosie knew, in love. Rosie made a silent resolution to add the mystery of Redboy to her ever growing list of mysteries.


	4. The Leaky Cauldron

4: The Leaky Cauldron

Rosie nervously paced around the house on the following Wednesday morning. She was very prepared for the day ahead; she wore her green cargo pants, a faded pink t-shirt shirt with a pocket on the front, and yellow high-tops. Her hair was gathered up in a bun and wrapped in an orange ribbon. Her red canvas backpack was stocked with The Very Old Book and The Moving Picture and her plastic botany lunchbox, just in case.

"Rosie, please stop pacing around," Grandmother said exasperatedly, "Renny won't be here for another hour, why don't you go play in the park while you wait."

Rosie was shooed out of the kitchen door and set into the woods. She decided to visit the chipmunk she had been feeding. She dutifully set the timer on her digital watch so she would be back on time. The chipmunk was getting used to her, Rosie thought, he would come within a few feet of her to get the sunflower seeds she brought for him. Soon, he might eat right out of her hand. Mom would be irritated, she always said that you must leave wild animals alone.

Her watched beeped and Rosie jumped up and ran back to the house. Renny was already there, waiting for her.

"Ready to go little cousin?" He asked, eyes twinkling. He was wearing yet another yellow shirt, but with a pattern of darker yellow flowers.

Rosie nodded eagerly and bid her grandparents goodbye. The two of them set off to the train station, a ten minute walk away. Rosie looked out the window all the way to London, watching the farms and villages slowly turn into suburbs, until they were in the heart of the city. A tube ride later, the cousins emerged on Charing Cross Road.

The usually busy road was in the midst of the post-lunch lull and Rosie quickly spotted the Cafe Paris.

"It's there Renny!" She pointed, "Let's go!" Rosie set off towards the cafe quickly, nearly leaving Renny behind until he grabbed her hand and looked at her sternly.

"No solo adventures today Rosie," he said, "you must stay close to me, this is a very big city for a girl, no matter how competent you are."

She assented and held his hand as they manoeuvred down the street together. His presence was comforting, London was a much bigger city than Victoria.

The cafe was small and drab, with hotel-style artwork and metal tables and chairs. It was completely empty except for the barista behind the counter, a young woman with a bored look. Rosie found a table to sit at in the back corner and Renny ordered drinks and croissants.

Rosie had just started digging into her chocolate pastry and bottle of orange Fanta when a bizarre looking man entered.

'This must be Mr. Wallington,' she thought. He was very tall and thin, his bright blonde hair balding in the back and was wearing a white suit with a purple cravat and a matching purple briefcase. Rosie stood up and gestured over. Mr. Wallington looked at her and smiled as he walked over.

"Miss Shepherd, I presume?" He said.

"Yes, Mr. Wallington," she offered her hand, "it is very nice to meet you sir."

"Splendid, splendid, splendid," he said. He sat down after shaking Renny's hand. Renny passed him a cappuccino he had already ordered and Mr. Wallington took it with a gracious smile.

"Now, Miss Shepherd," he began, "why don't you tell me all about this book of yours."

Rosie undid the buckle on her backpack and pulled out The Very Old Book. Both Renny and Mr. Wallington looked at it with palpable curiosity.

Rosie explained, "I found it in my mom's old room. I know it's really old and probably rare." She glanced at her cousin, "Renny couldn't find any other copies and he's a Librarian." She opened the book to the first page.

"The title is in English, but the rest of the book is written in these strange symbols. I want to know what the book is about. I think it's a fairy tale."

"May I?" Mr. Wallington gestured towards the book, Rosie nodded. Mr. Wallington picked it up carefully and ran his fingers on the cover and slowly flipped through the pages.

"Extraordinary!" He exclaimed, "this must be one of the oldest editions!" He continued to carefully look through it. "You have a real treasure on your hands here." He looked at her with delight. "However, I can't tell you anything about it," he finally said, "I wish I could."

"What do you mean?" enquired Rosie in a huff, trying to keep her tone polite, "if you know, sir, why can't you say?"

Mr. Wallington adjusted his gold, wire rimmed glasses and said, "How old are you Miss Shepherd?"

"Ten," Rosie said, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I want you to go outside and cross the street, look for a restaurant called The Leaky Cauldron. The owner there might be able to tell you something about the book. Her name is Mrs. Longbottom." Mr. Wallington said, "But, if you can't find the restaurant, and you still haven't figured out the book on your next birthday, then I think you should find a new project." He added with a wink, "some things are meant to stay a mystery, you know."

Rosie felt cheated and frustrated. She had come all this way, only to be told what her mother always said, ' _some things are unknowable Rosie-girl_ ,' she could hear Mom telling her. Thinking of something else that might intrigue Mr. Wallington and maybe loosen his tongue, Rosie decided to reveal her other secret about Mom. She knew there had be a connection between The Moving Picture and The Very Old Book. Rosie reached back into her bag and opened a zipped pocket inside and pulled out The Moving Picture.

"I have something else," she began slowly and revealed The Moving Picture to the two men. Renny gasped, "Rosie," he said, "what in the world?"

Mr. Wallington took the picture of Mom and Redboy and looked at it for a few moments. He then looked at Rosie for a long time, closely observing her features, her small nose and lips, freckled skin and large hazel eyes. "Is this your mother, Miss Shepherd?" He finally asked.

"Yes," Rosie replied promptly, "but I don't know who that boy is. It looks like he was her boyfriend or something."

"Indeed," Mr. Wallington said slowly, "I'm afraid I can't help you." He stood up suddenly, "I would keep that picture to yourself young lady. Best not show it to anyone else," his tone suddenly brusque. "I must go," he said, standing up and looking directly at her, "find the Leaky Cauldron, and don't forget what I said about that photograph."

Before Rosie knew it, he was out the door and gone.

"Well, well, little cousin. You certainly are full of secrets aren't you?" Renny said as the door swung shut behind Mr. Wallington.

"What do you think this picture is Renny? I've never seen anything like it." Rosie said with a plea. "It doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"No, it does not." Renny said, "I'm afraid I can't help you at all Rosie, it is exceedingly curious." He looked closely at the picture. "It's almost like magic, isn't it?"

Rosie nodded her agreement, that's what she thought too, _Magic_ had been on her mind for weeks. "I thought magic was just in stories," she said, "it's not real."

Renny put his arm around the girl, "the world is a very strange place, Rosie." Renny said, "there are all kinds of things that we will never understand. Perhaps magic is real."

Rosie thought about Mom, gone forever, and the shimmering white flowers in the woods.

Rosie and Renny left the cafe and walked onto the street. Rosie saw it immediately; directly across the street, looking like it had no business being there at all, was a dingy restaurant. The sign over the door had a black cauldron painted on it.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Rosie exclaimed. She assumed Mr. Wallington was talking nonsense, as he had been incredibly unhelpful. It was there though, tucked between two much nicer buildings. "Renny! It's there! I thought Mr. Wallington was full-of-it. But it's there!" She quickly said.

"Rosie, slow down. What's there?" Renny looked at where she was pointing with confusion.

Rosie looked at Renny, "you don't see it?" She pointed again, "look, there," she said, "The Leaky Cauldron. It's real!"

Renny scanned his eyes across the street, not resting his gaze on anything. "I don't see it Rosie," he said, he looked a bit concerned now. The day's mysteries were getting a bit heavy at this point. "Perhaps we should continue on to the book fair," he suggested.

"No! It's there. I promise." And she ran across the street into the restaurant.

* * *

Renny watched his cousin dart away from his grasp and across the street. Before he could retrieve her, she was gone. He frantically looked around, calling her name.

"Rosie! Rosie! Where are you?" He yelled over and over.

People on the streets started looking at him, a crowd began to form. A tall man with a long coat approached him.

"Sir, please calm down. You are making a scene." He firmly stated.

"No, you don't understand!" Renny exclaimed, "my cousin, a little girl, disappeared."

"Where did you last see her?" The tall man asked.

"Here, right here. She was going on about the Leaky Cauldron and ran across the street. Then she was gone."

"Okay, follow me." The tall man grabbed Renny's arm and pulled him through a doorway. Renny yelped. That door was not there a minute ago. He assessed his surroundings, he was in a restaurant. Rosie was sitting at the bar, listening intently to the server, she was fine. He let out a huge breath of relief. There were a pair of men sitting in lounge chairs by a small fireplace. They both wore the strangest clothes; huge black dresses and pointed hats. Renny had a feeling deep in his stomach that he was not supposed to be here. After thanking the man, he walked over to Rosie.

"Rosie! You scared me half to death," he lectured, "you can't just disappear like that!"

Rosie looked properly chastised, "I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, "I'm really sorry, I thought you were right behind me!"

"I clearly was not! You have been gone for nearly ten minutes, didn't you notice I wasn't here?"

Rosie looked down shamefacedly, "I'm really sorry, I won't do it again," she promised, "I got really distracted, Hannah was telling me all about The Hopping Pot!"

"Let's get going now," Renny said firmly, interrupting her. He wanted to get out of that strange place as soon as he could.

"Can we still go to the book fair?" Rosie asked hopefully.

* * *

They went back down to the tube to get to the book fair. Renny relented and decided to continue with the day's agenda, but sat silently, contemplating the strangeness of the afternoon. Rosie sat grumpily, like a child who knew she had misbehaved. Rosie tentatively tried to bring up what she had discovered at the Leaky Cauldron as they got off the escalators.

"Renny, I talked to this lady called Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron, she knew all about Beetle the Bard," she began. Just then a man bumped directly into them, causing Renny to drop his leather briefcase. All his papers fell everywhere.

"Oh dear, I'm very sorry about that chap," the clumsy man said. He was wearing an impeccable suit and Rosie saw that he carried a strange stick that he had partially hidden in his suit jacket.

Renny muttered, "not a problem," as he bent over on his hands and knees to collect all his documents.

Rosie bent over to pick up a piece of paper, when she saw it. The clumsy man pointed that strange stick directly at Renny. The clumsy man then looked at her and said seriously, "You'll be keeping all this quiet then, won't ya?"

Rosie frowned at the man as he walked away, and continued to help Renny pick up his things. "Renny, did you see the stick that man had? What do you think that was all about?" Her cousin stood up with a glazed look in his eyes. He looked around confusedly for several minutes.

"Renny?" Rosie said softly, "are you okay?"

"Rosie!" He exclaimed, as if seeing her for the first time that day, "Let's continue on, shall we? Book fairs wait for no man!" He cheerfully stated. Rosie stared at him.

"Or woman," he added cheekily. His smile dropped as he saw the panic in Rosie's eyes.

"Rosie, what's wrong?" he asked, bending down to be on her level.

She tried again, "that man, the one who bumped into you, did you see the stick he had?"

"A stick?" He said, "Perhaps it was a cane to help him walk?" She shook her head. No, it was not that kind of stick.

"I think he followed us," Rosie said, "from the Leaky Cauldron. I'm pretty sure I saw him there."

"The Leaky Cauldron? What a fantastic name!" Renny said, and jokingly added, "What kind of establishment is that? A broken toilet store?"

"Don't you remember?" Rosie asked, fear creeping into her voice, "we went there after we met with Mr. Wallington?"

"Rosie, I really don't know what you are talking about." Renny said, concerned for the girl in his care. "Perhaps you are a bit confused."

Rosie shook her head and took his hand, opting to be silent as she tried to understand everything that had happened. They walked to the book fair where Renny tried his best to make her laugh and allowed her to pick out twenty new books to stock in the library. Rosie picked them out half-heartedly and was relieved when Renny dropped her off at home a few hours later.

* * *

Grandfather came to tuck her in that night, "Rosie," he said, "I just got off the phone with Renny. He said that you were upset today. Would you like to talk about it?"

Rosie sat up in her bed and thought about telling Grandfather everything: The Moving Picture, The Very Old Book, Mr. Wallington, The Leaky Cauldron and Renny's memory loss. She didn't say anything, if that man could take Renny's memory so easily, what could he do to Grandfather? Rosie didn't know what else that stick could do. That man warned her to stay quiet, so she would.

"No," Rosie said, "It's nothing." Grandfather stroked her hair and climbed onto her bed, holding her for awhile.

"Grandfather?" Rosie said, "Did Mom ever tell you about the Hopping Pot?" Maybe Grandfather already knew, she thought hopefully.

"The Hopping Pot?" He said, "No I'm afraid she never did, what is it?"

Rosie sighed, "nothing, just a story I found. It doesn't matter."

"Alright darling," Grandfather tucked her tightly into bed, "have a good sleep."

He left the room and clicked off the light. Rosie lay awake, her head spinning and spinning and spinning. She suddenly felt angry with Mom. She knew all about this! She knew about the Hopping Pot and the Moving Picture and never told Rosie anything! Rosie turned over onto her other side fretfully, Mom knew about Magic.

Rosie didn't fall asleep for a very long time.

* * *

Unknown to Rosie, Grandfather, and Grandmother, a wizard called Harry Potter sat in the garden that night underneath the pear tree, crying softly late into the night.


	5. The Hopping Pot

5: The Hopping Pot

Rosie lounged on the green velvet couch in the sitting room. Mops the Bloodhound napped on the red Persian rug. The morning sun was shining through the east window, bathing the room in warm light. A cup of tea sat untouched on the coffee table. The ten year old had her knees up and a spiral notebook in her lap. Using a black ballpoint, she wrote across the top of the first page _Facts about Magic._

She took a sip of tea, and wrote, _No. 1, Magic is Real_. She nervously chewed on the end of her pen and added, _and Dangerous._

That was not in doubt any longer. First off, there was the incident yesterday with Renny. The clumsy man pointed that stick at her cousin, and in a second, erased hours of the afternoon from Renny's mind. It terrified Rosie.

There was also The Moving Picture. She couldn't find the word for it for weeks. Renny called it magic.

Finally, Rosie gathered much evidence of magic during her visit to The Leaky Cauldron

* * *

When Rosie ran inside, she could feel it. The air was sweeter, like breathing in fresh air after standing in smog. Everyone craned their necks and stared at her, like she was the weird one in her green pants and pink t-shirt. They all looked bizarre. Two men by the fireplace wore pointed hats with large brims and long black dresses. The lady behind the bar was wearing a blue dress that sparkled as she moved. It had an old-fashioned waist, with strings tied up in the back. Her hair was golden blonde and really long. The thick braid went all the way down her back. A man wearing a dark green dress sat at the bar. There was a large, speckled owl sitting on a perch behind the bar, peering intelligently as Rosie. A newspaper, _The Daily Prophet_ , was on a table with a moving picture on the front page.

"Hello!" Rosie said brightly to the proprietress behind the bar as she climbed onto the barstool, "Are you Mrs. Longbottom?"

"Indeed I am," the beautiful woman replied.

"I'm Rosie, I need your help with something." She decided to get right to the point. The man sitting next to Rosie chuckled under his breath. Adults often laughed at Rosie, probably because she was more direct than most children. Rosie looked at him sharply, he looked very tired and was drinking some sort of alcohol. He had round glasses and really messy hair.

"I will do my best Rosie, what do you need?" Mrs. Longbottom said **.**

"I want to know about _Beedle the Bard._ Do you know the first story in the book with the picture of a cauldron?" Mrs. Longbottom laughed aloud at the request but obliged.

"It must the the story of The Hopping Pot" Mrs. Longbottom said, "I have to think for a moment how it begins." Rosie waited patiently, sitting primly on the bar stool with her yellow high-tops neatly crossed.

The man sitting next to Rosie cleared his throat, "there once was a kindly old wizard who used his magic to help his neighbours."

"Oh yes, thank you Harry," Hannah said and then she began:

 _"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic to help his neighbours._

 _He didn't want anyone to know he was a wizard, so he claimed that his magical potions_

 _miraculously appeared in his lucky cooking pot._

 _People from all over the village came to him with their problems._

 _The wizard gave his pot a stir and helped solve all sorts of things._

 _When he died, he gave the pot to his son._

 _The son was very different from his father. He thought Muggles were worthless._

 _After his father died, the son found a package inside the pot with his name on it._

 _He opened it, hoping for gold, but instead found a single slipper, much too small to wear._

 _There was a note with it that said, "I hope you will never need this, my son."_

 _The son was angry and spiteful. He decided to use the pot for rubbish._

 _That very night a woman came to his door and asked him for a cure for her daughters warts._

 _"Begone!" the son said, "why would I care about your brat's warts?"_

 _And he slammed the door in her face._

 _At once, a loud banging came from his kitchen._

 _He opened the door and saw that his father's old cooking pot had grown a single brass foot,_

 _it was hoping on the spot and making an awful racket._

 _The wizard saw that the whole of the pot was covered in disgusting wars._

 _He first tried to Vanish it, then to clean it by magic, and finally tried to force it outside._

 _Nothing worked, the pot kept hopping after him and followed him to bed,_

 _clanging and banging all night long._

 _The wizard couldn't sleep at all because of the loud, warty pot._

 _When he was eating breakfast, there was another knock at the door._

 _An old man stood there and said,"my donkey is lost!_

 _Without her I cannot sell my goods and my family will be hungry."_

 _"And I am hungry now!" The wizard yelled and slammed the door on the old man._

 _The cooking pot, still covered with warts,_

 _Started to bray like a donkey and cry like a hungry child._

 _"Be silent!" The wizard yelled over and over._

 _None of his magical powers could silence the warty pot,_

 _which hopped all day, braying and groaning and clanging no matter where he went or what he did._

 _That evening came a third knock._

 _A woman was crying, "my baby is sick, can you please help her?"_

 _The wizard slammed the door shut._

 _Now the pot filled to the brim with salt water and slopped tears all over the floor._

 _No more villagers came to seek help for the rest of the week,_

 _but the pot kept him updated on their many troubles._

 _Soon it was also choking and retching, crying and whining, spewing out bad cheese and sour milk._

 _The wizard could not sleep or eat with the pot beside him until he could bear it no more._

 _He ran through the village yelling,_

 _"bring me your all your problems and woes,_

 _let me cure you and mend you and comfort you._

 _I have my father's cooking pot and I shall make you well!"_

 _He ran up the street, with the pot beside him,_

 _casting spells in every direction, curing the villagers of their troubles._

 _At every house of sickness and sorrow, the wizard did his best to help._

 _Gradually the cooking pot stopped groaning and retching and became shiny and clean._

 _"Well, pot?" Asked the wizard._

 _The pot burped out a single slipper and the wizard put it on the pot's brass foot._

 _Together they set off home._

 _From that day on the wizard helped the muggles, just like his father,_

 _less the pot cast off its slipper and begin to hop once more." *_

Rosie smiled widely, thrilled to have finally heard the story, "thanks Mrs. Longbottom, you are good at stories."

"Call me Hannah, and it was no trouble," she said, "I'm used to telling it to my kids. You've never heard it?"

"No, my Mom never told me, I found this book of hers, but I couldn't read it," Rosie opened her red backpack and pulled out The Very Old Book to show Hannah.

"It's wonderful Rosie," Hannah commented, "a very old copy I think." Rosie nodded proudly. The man next to Rosie gasped, his eyes fixed on The Very Old Book.

Just then Renny came in, upset, flustered, and lecturing. As he pulled her outside, Rosie noticed another man wearing a regular suit watching them closely as they exited into London.

* * *

Rosie heard her grandparents come in from the kitchen door. They went to the front room and sat at the table, talking quietly.

"A man called last night," Grandfather told Grandmother, "a friend of Hermione's from school. He wanted to organize a reunion."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him she had died, what else would I have said? He was very upset."

"I just wish those people would leave us alone, after everything that happened," Grandmother said sharply.

Rosie lost interest in the conversation. She understood Grandmother's sentiment. She didn't want to talk about Mom's death either. She returned to her list and neatly wrote _No. 2, Magic is a secret._

The secret was so important that wizards went around stealing memories to protect it. Also, Renny couldn't see The Leaky Cauldron even when Rosie pointed right at it. Just like The Very Old Book before she properly noticed it.

Mr. Wallington must know too. He refused to say anything to her, even though he knew about Beedle the Bard and the Leaky Cauldron.

Rosie chewed on her pen. Some people are allowed to know about magic. She's allowed to know, Rosie considered, thinking of the clumsy man and his warning. Who is allowed to know and why?

She finished her tea and wrote her last conclusion; _No. 3, Mom knew._ Mom had a magical picture and a book about magical fairy tales. Rosie flipped to the end of The Hopping Pot to re-read her mother's note. _In most post 1689 versions of the story the cauldron protects the wizard against violent muggles._ Muggles. Hannah talked about them too.

How did you do magic? Maybe you had to find a magical treasure, Rosie speculated. Maybe you needed magical dust or a magical animal. Maybe you had to recite magical words. Rosie intended to find out. She would go back to the Leaky Cauldron and ask Hannah.

It would be very difficult to get to London. She was supposed to start school next week, and her grandparents mustn't know. Rosie didn't want their minds erased.

Until she could figure out how to get to London, Rosie would experiment on her own. Thinking of The Hopping Pot, Rosie would try to make potions to help people.

She had all kinds of plants to use as ingredients already, and the story made it sound like potions were easy business.

With that decided, Rosie shut the notebook and stored it inside her backpack along with the botany reference books and the book on natural medicine. She went downstairs and opened a bunch of jars and dumped their contents into her plastic lunchbox. She crept into the kitchen to steal Grandfather's cast iron pot and a knife. He hardly ever used it, so probably wouldn't notice its absence for awhile. Grabbing a box of matches and stuffing everything into her backpack, Rosie yelled goodbye to her grandparents and set off into the woods.

* * *

She sat in the small clearing where she often went to feed a little chipmunk. He twittered at her arrival, clearly expecting some food. She cleared a small area and started a fire with some sticks. As the fire heated up, Rosie looked up plants that were supposed to help with joint inflammation, wanting to help Grandmother first.

She cut up some ginger and willow bark and put them in the pot. They sizzled on the heat, but were much too dry to look like a proper potion. She picked some blackberries from a bush and crushed them up and added it to the mixture.

It was definitely wetter, but didn't seem very magical. Maybe she needed to say some magical words too. She leaned in and whispered, "bibbity boppity boo, transform this blackberry goo."

Rosie waited for a minute. Nothing happened, except the twittering of the insistent chipmunk. Maybe it worked? How would she know? She thought of The Leaky Cauldron and The Very Old Book. There was a quality about them that was unmistakably magical. Her goo was just goo.

Perhaps she didn't have enough information to make potions, she conceded. She scraped up the goo and offered it to the chipmunk. He smelt it once, then bounced away.

* _Paraphrased from Rowling's Tales of Beedle the Bard_


	6. The Burning Bench

6: The Burning Bench

Rosie was running as quickly as she could without slipping on the icy ground. It was so cold out and Rosie was eager to sit in front of the fire in the sitting room. Vancouver Island was never this cold, she thought grouchily. She wore a bright yellow winter jacket and Grandmother's homemade hat, gloves and scarf.

School had sucked today. Rosie was partnered up with Abby Winter to make a diorama in Science class. Abby Winter was the worst girl in grade five. All the teachers loved her because she got the best grades, but she wasn't even smart. Abby didn't even know how many planets were in the solar system. Who doesn't know that? Rosie thought scathingly, thinking of that stupid, perfect diorama that Abby made.

Popular Abby Winter had made Rosie's life at her new school quite miserable since September. Rosie was disliked by nearly every girl in 5th grade, who all obediently followed their leader's directive.

Rosie wasn't sure why she was so unpopular, she had plenty of friends at her school in Canada. Rosie thought it was because she had an American sounding accent and was smarter than all of them. Grandmother said it was Rosie's negative attitude and how she treated her classmates condescendingly when they didn't know something that she did.

But Grandmother didn't understand that Abby Winter was demonic, so there really wasn't much Rosie could do. Rosie said she didn't care anyways. She didn't need to be friends with those stupid girls. She would rather spend recesses reading her books. She was in the middle of a really good novel about Emmeline Pankhurst, Rosie's new hero.

Abby screamed that Rosie was crazy today after Rosie 'accidentally' broke the diorama Abby had just finished. Abby got very mad at her and they had to go to the principles office. The principal probably called Grandmother, Rosie thought with a groan.

* * *

"Hello!" Rosie shouted as she barged through the front door. Mops ran up to her, wagging his whole body in excitement.

"Rosie, please come into the sitting room," Grandfather called.

Uh-oh.

Grandfather and Grandmother were sitting on the couch, with a pot of tea and cut up carrots on the coffee table. Rosie reluctantly stopped petting Mops' belly and went into the room. She sat on the floral chair beside the north window. Her grandparents looked very serious.

"I got a call from the principle today," Grandmother started, "she told me you broke a girl's science project."

"I didn't!" Rosie said, "It was an accident! It was my project too."

"She also told me that you are putting in no effort into your classes and rarely finish your homework or participate in school."

Rosie inspected her nails, and said nothing.

Grandfather poured Rosie some tea and gave her the bowl of carrots. "We know you have had a hard time adjusting to all these changes since May. But we need to make a reasonable plan to help you succeed in school."

"I've never done good in school. This has nothing to do with Mom," Rosie snapped defensively. "My classes are boring and all the kids are dumb."

"That's not true Rosie," Grandmother said, "if you only tried you might be surprised as how much better school could be. Your mother loved school you know, she was always the top of her class."

"Well maybe I'm not as smart as Mom." Rosie huffed.

"If you aren't willing to try, then how would you know?" Grandfather said.

Rosie couldn't handle the conversation any longer. Tears were welling in her eyes. She slammed her coat on, grabbed her backpack, and ran outside.

Her grandparents expected too much. She already tried to do better in classes and be more patient with her classmates, but she was too easily distracted and short tempered. She doesn't want to get angry and act out, it just happens.

She ran through the woods, passing the clearing where she tried, and failed, to make magic potions to the area where she and Grandfather flew kites in the summer.

She sat on the bench, stewing and grumbling and pulled out The Moving Picture. Mom's smile was the same, Redboy still looked annoying. Rosie grew angry looking at it. Everything would have been better if Mom was still here. Mom could always make schoolwork seem at least a little interesting. Mom could explain about magic. Rosie, in a moment of rage, ripped the picture into little pieces, hot tears growing cold on her cheeks.

Rosie yelled out loud in frustration and paced around the bench, feeling the sharp pang of loss, looking at the destroyed picture in her hands. And then, the bench lit on fire.

The bench was on fire. Flames licking around the metal legs, devouring the wooden slabs. Rosie stared, open-mouthed and mesmerized.

She watched it burn. The slabs becoming black, then falling apart into ash. Soon, all that was left were metal legs on the concrete pad.

* * *

She was sent straight to her room when she got home, Grandmother's voice was thick with disappointment over her behaviour. She hardly cared about being in trouble right then, she felt as though her chest would explode. She did magic! She was sure of it. Things don't just light on fire like that. Rosie carefully pulled back the print of Sunflowers from the slanted roof and reached into Mom's hidey-hole. She pulled out her Notebook of Magic and flipped it open.

 _Facts about Magic._

 _No. 1, Magic is Real. And Dangerous._

 _No. 2, Magic is a secret._

 _No. 3, Mom knew._

 _No. 4, Magical potions are more complicated than mixing plants together into a pot._

That had been a difficult to accept, but undisputed truth Rosie discovered after wasting her entire Botany Collection only to make useless sludge.

She added in a shaking hand, _No. 5, I accidentally set a bench on fire_.

Just then, she heard a knock at the front door. She put the notebook away and sealed it carefully behind the poster. Someone was talking to Grandfather. Curious, as always, Rosie crept onto the top step, her usual eavesdropping location.

"We've been over this Harry, our answer is the same now as it was three months ago." Grandfather said sternly.

"Yes I know, and I've tried my very best to respect that but…" a man replied. He spoke firmly, but Rosie could hear the desperation in his voice.

"Hermione told us everything that happened, she didn't want Rosie involved with your people," Grandfather interjected, tension rising in his voice.

"I know, but please, I loved Hermione! I just want to meet her," the man was losing control of his voice. "I was just in the park watching Rosie and she…"

Grandmother jumped in heatedly, "you were watching her? What rights do you have? Hermione was very clear in her wishes. She wanted total separation, her death has not changed that."

The man sighed, "I only want what's best for Rosie. Please believe me when I say that. If you change your mind please call me. "

"That will not happen, goodbye Harry." Grandfather stated softly, closing the door.

Rosie scrambled to her grandparents bedroom to the window that overlooked the street. She watched the stranger walk towards her. He paused and looked up. Their eyes met. He looked familiar. He had black hair and green eyes framed by round glasses. He wore an old fashioned suit with a thick wool overcoat. The Leaky Cauldron! She remembered, he was the man sitting at the bar.

He pulled an envelope out from his inner pocket and placed it in the mailbox. He put his finger to his lips in a silent 'shhh'. Then, like magic, he twisted on his heel and disappeared.

* * *

Rosie waited for her Grandparents to go to bed. When she finally heard their door shut and their soft words stop, she climbed out of bed and crept down the stairs. She slipped out the front door and ran to the mailbox, grabbed the letter and ran back to her bed as quickly and quietly as she could.

The envelope was a rich yellow, the red wax sealed with an image of a skull. She slipped a hair pin under the wax to break the seal and pulled out a letter, handwritten on more of the thick paper.

 _Dear Rosie,_

 _First, I must tell you that your mother was my very best friend. I loved her like a sister, and I grieve her death. I am very sorry for your loss._

 _I never knew that you existed until I saw you come into The Leaky Cauldron in the summer. I knew you were Hermione's daughter as soon as you pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard. I saw her read that book more times than I can remember. She did an entire translation of the original rune edition. I will get you a copy when we get a chance to meet. You are very similar to her, I'm sure you've been told that many times._

 _I don't know how much Hermione told you about magic, but based on your grandparents protection of you, I assume you have not been told very much. You are a witch Rosie, of that I am certain. Only a magical person could find The Leaky Cauldron like you did. There is a whole secret world of magic hidden from the eyes of muggles (non-magic people). On your eleventh birthday, you will receive an invitation to attend a school of magic called Hogwarts. Your grandparents must send you, just as they had to send Hermione. They will have no choice. The Ministry of Magic ensures that all magical children attend the school._

 _I do not think we will be able to meet for quite awhile, your grandparents are resistant to let you come in contact with the magical world, and after what happened to Hermione, I cannot say I blame them. But I must warn you Rosie, Hermione was very famous in the wizarding world. You mustn't let any magical people know you are her daughter. I implore you, for your own well-being._

 _I will explain more as soon as it is possible, I promise._

 _Until then,_

 _Harry Potter._


	7. Rosie the Witch

7: Rosie the Witch

Rosie reread the letter twice. Mom was a witch. She not only knew about magic, but could use it. Rosie grabbed a picture from the dresser. There was Mom, sandwiched between two boys. Redboy, the red head who she maybe used to date, and Harry Potter, the slight boy with the messy hair and green eyes. Yes that was definitely him, those eyes were very distinct. They must have all gone to Hogwarts together. She thought about The Moving Picture, then remembered with regret that she had destroyed it. Rosie put the letter in the hidey-hole and climbed into her comfortable feather bed.

Rosie was all wrong about magic. She thought it was a secret up for discovery. That if you could just find the right magical stone or dust, or say the right words, then anybody could be a wizard. According to Harry, either you were magical or you were a muggle. And Rosie was a witch. She grinned at the ceiling in the darkness of her room.

Rosie had set a bench on fire. She grinned larger. She blindly reached to the ground to rummage through her backpack, searching for the pack of matches. Finding them, she slid open the box and brought one close. She closed her eyes and pictured it lighting on fire. She focused all her will on the tip of the match. After a few minutes, she gave up and went to sleep, she'd try more tomorrow.

* * *

Rosie woke up Saturday morning and threw on warm stocking and a large red woollen sweater that went down to her knees. She practically bounced down the stairs, gleeful in her newfound knowledge.

Grandfather was already at the table, looking incredibly stern. Oh right. She was probably still in trouble. She forgot all about stupid Abby Winter and the stupid science project.

"Take a seat, Rosie." Grandfather said seriously, "your behaviour yesterday was unacceptable. You cannot run off in the middle of a discussion, nor can you behave so poorly in school."

Rosie groaned and slumped down into her usual chair.

"You are grounded until Christmas, that means no going outside after school and no trips to the library to visit with Renny. You will be home after school every day, helping your Grandmother and working on your homework."

Grandmother walked in with a plate full of pancakes and nodded her agreement. She put two large ones on Rosie's plate and covered them with syrup and preserved cherries. She did the same for Grandfather's plate and then sat down across from Rosie. As they began to eat, Rosie stared at her breakfast.

"I set a bench on fire." Rosie blurted out.

"Excuse me?" Grandmother hissed, her eyes narrowing, "what bench? Why would you do such a thing?"

"It was an accident!" Rosie protested.

"Oh yes, I'm sure, just like you accidentally destroyed Abby's diorama." Grandmother sarcastically retorted.

"No really! I didn't do it on purpose. I was really angry and it lit on fire!" Rosie couldn't hardly hide the excitement in her voice.

Grandmother's silence was deafening in the heat of the argument. Grandfather looked directly at Rosie, "tell me exactly what happened Rosie."

"I went to the park yesterday after you yelled at me," Rosie said vindictively, "I was really mad and I don't know how, but the bench lit on fire. Like the whole bench. It burnt to a total crisp." She finished, and couldn't help but adding, "it was like magic."

Grandmother stood up, her face contorted with grief, and hurried out of the front room and up the stairs.

"Wait, Grandmother!" Rosie cried, "What's wrong?" She started to run after her, but Grandfather stopped her. He took her hand and gently sat her back down.

"There is something I must tell you, Rosie." Grandfather said, brushing a curl behind Rosie's ear. He was silent for a long moment, trying to find the right words. "When your mother was a little girl, strange things would often happen to her. Once, she climbed up to the top of that bookshelf," he gestured to the wall of bookshelves that lined the west wall, "she slipped and started to fall down. I couldn't catch her in time. Instead of falling, she flipped around and landed lightly on her feet. Another time she wanted to keep reading in the car after it got dark. So she created a floating light. These things happened frequently. We were quite befuddled by the whole affair."

Grandfather was smiling fondly at his memories of Mom. He signed deeply and continued, "then, when she turned eleven, a woman came to the cottage. Professor McGonagall, she was called. She told us that Hermione was a witch, someone who could use magic, spells and potions. Hermione then spent the next seven years attending a school of magic. She learnt how to do all kinds of amazing things. She could turn teacups into cats and disappear from one place and appear instantly somewhere else."

Grandfather stopped talking, stood up and walked around the room. "But it didn't last." He finally said. "When she became an adult, she lived with magical people, inside their secret world. Then, some very hateful wizard, who didn't like people like her, cursed her with a spell of dark, evil magic. It took away her magic and hurt her very badly. She lived without magic for along time, until a few years ago when she began to get some of it back. If she lived, perhaps she would have recovered it all."

Grandfather sat back down beside Rosie, and took a long drink of his tea. The porcelain cup rattled against its saucer as he shakily put it down.

"What do you mean, people like her?" Rosie inquired, immediately picking up on the holes in Grandfather's explanation.

"The magical world is not without its problems," he explained, "there is bigotry among magical people, just like in our world. Hermione was what they called Muggleborn. It means that her heritage was not magical. People who only had magic in the backgrounds thought she was inferior and many of them hated her for it."

"But she was just as good of a witch?" Rosie asked, knowing Mom must have been incredible.

"The very best," Grandfather smiled, "Hermione was the brightest and the quickest. Those purebloods, as they are called, hated her even more for it. She was better than them."

"Why didn't she tell me?" Rosie asked, her voice thick with hurt.

"She left it all behind her when she lost her magic. She moved away and married your dad. You never showed any signs of having magic, so she didn't see any point." He answered solemnly, then added, "I think she would have told you eventually."

"I think I do have magic though." Rosie said quietly.

"Yes, Rosie-girl, I believe you do." He sighed.

"Are you mad at me?" Rosie looked up at the ceiling, she could hear Grandmother's muffled sobs from upstairs.

"Of course not, you have a wondrous talent Rosie. Just think of the good you could do with such amazing powers!"

"But Grandmother…"

"She is just afraid for you Rosie. Hermione was treated very poorly by magical people and she doesn't want that to happen to you." Grandfather squeezed her hand and brushed her hair lightly. Then he stood up and went upstairs to be with Grandmother. Rosie sat at the table, considering all she had been told, eating her now cold pancakes.

* * *

Witch or not, Rosie was still a grounded ten year old. Her only respite was taking Mops for walks. Usually much longer walks than Mops liked. In the slow, winter evenings Rosie had nothing but time. She actually started doing her homework, out of boredom if nothing else. She carefully avoided further confrontations at school and continued to seek out quiet corners where she could read her books and work on her new project, magic. Every chance she had, she would pull out the long wooden match with the red tip and stare at it. She knew she could do it again. She had lit a whole bench on fire! A flammable match head should be no problem. Once, she was sure the tip heated up a bit. Magic was harder than she thought.

* * *

Soon, it was the last day of school before Christmas break. She was sitting on a bench on the edge of the school's playground. She had her puffy yellow coat zipped all the way up and was wrapped up in a knitted pink scarf and hat. She was nearly finished reading _The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe._ The wardrobe into Narnia reminded her of The Leaky Cauldron. She stumbled onto it just like Lucy found the wardrobe. As if guided by magic itself, she poeticized.

Then something freezing cold and wet was dripping down her back. She turned around quickly. Of course, Abby Winter, that cow. She had poured an entire bottle of water down Rosie's back.

"That's for ruining my project," she spat, with a victorious look in her eye, "and for being a weird loser. It's obvious you live with old people, you have like, no social skills."

That insult didn't even make sense. Old people have had the most practice socializing, after all. Abby's most loyal companions snickered behind her loyally.

"Whatever, Abby. You are petty and silly. I'd rather not talk to anyone at all than have to talk to you." Rosie glared back stoically, unwilling to show a hint of emotion or weakness. Not to someone like Abby Winter.

Abby squeaked angrily, her face turning red, "Nobody wants to talk to you, stupid. I heard your dad doesn't even want you. You're practically an orphan."

Abby flicked her straight, brown hair and grabbed Rosie's book and started to walk away, laughing cruelly with her friends. Rosie was seething. How dare she?

Then Rosie felt something familiar. Magic! The air seemed thicker and sweeter, for just a moment. Abby screamed hysterically and dropped the book. Her hands were covered in blistering burns as large as golf balls. Red and raw. Rosie smelt melting flesh. Abby sobbed and screamed and ran towards the supervising teacher.

Rosie was horrified. What had she done? She hated Abby, but didn't want to hurt her that badly. She grabbed the offending book out of the snow. It was completely cool. Rosie fled home as fast as she could, the icy air burning her lungs.

Finally she saw the white cottage with the thatched roof. She opened the door and threw herself into Grandmother's arms. The whole story coming out in gasping, sobbing breaths. "It was really bad, Grandmother, really bad. Her hands looked horrible. I didn't mean to. I promise."

"Hush, Rosie, hush." Grandmother soothed, "I will take care of it, I promise." Grandmother set Rosie on the green couch with a blanket and Mops. She picked up the landline phone and dialled a number.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. This is Teresa Granger. We need your help."


	8. Christmas at the Grangers

Chapter 8: Christmas at the Grangers

An hour and a half later, Harry Potter was sitting in the front room with a cup of tea in front of him.

"Everything is taken care of, Abby is completely healed and won't remember a thing. I contacted the Ministry's Obliviation Squad. This is nothing compared to the things they usually deal with. A simple case of accidental magic." He smiled towards Rosie, who was still shuddering under a blanket. Red eyed, the sorrow and regret plain on her young face.

"Perhaps this isn't the best time for us to properly meet," Harry said thoughtfully, "I've already talked with your grandparents, and if you like, I will take you shopping for your school supplies this summer. You can meet my daughter, Gigi. She will be in your class at Hogwarts."

Rosie nodded her assent, too shaken to form a proper response. Harry stood to leave, pulling on a thick black cloak overtop his grey dress and laced black boots.

"I have been trying to do magic. Is that why this happened?" Rosie asked quietly, her eyes glued to the floor.

Harry sat back down, "absolutely not," he stated firmly, "these things happen to young witches and wizards. When I was a kid, I turned my teacher's hair blue," he stated playfully.

"Not quite the same thing," Rosie muttered, glancing up into his bright eyes. She understood now why wizards kept magic a secret. She would be put in jail!

Harry sighed, "no, maybe not. That's why you must go to school. You will learn how to control it so you won't hurt anyone else, I promise," he tentatively reached out and awkwardly patted her back.

"I will see you in July Rosie. I look forward to it very much." Harry gave her a soft smile, then politely bade her grandparents farewell in the sitting room. He went out the front door and Rosie heard a sharp 'pop'.

* * *

In the days leading up to Christmas, Rosie worked harder than ever on her magic. She stared at the match for hours at a time; willing it to light. She remembered the feeling of magic, thick and sweet, and imagined the match lighting. She thought of Harry's advice, if she could control it, then she wouldn't hurt anyone else like she had Abby. Rosie turned pale and shuddered at the memory.

The day before Christmas, Rosie's dad arrived. She could hear him from her room immediately. His voice so familiar. "Rosie!" He boomed from the porch. "Where's my girl?"

She shot up and ran downstairs. Dad was very tall and broad. His blonde hair and eyelashes were fuzzy with fluffy snow. He had a plaid winter coat on and a leather duffle bag beside him.

* * *

That night, the four of them sat in the sitting room talking about Rosie's new life in England. Grandfather and Grandmother had glasses of red wine, Dad had a large beer, and Rosie had Mops' head on her lap. Rosie chattered all night, telling her dad all about Renny and the library, the woods behind the cottage, the kite she had made with Grandfather, and how big and amazing London is.

"It sounds like moving to England was a great idea then, wasn't it Rosie?" Keith said brightly.

Rosie did not miss the sarcastic look Grandmother shot Grandfather. Was it a good idea? She didn't like her school here. She missed Vancouver Island, the little islands, the beaches, the big trees and the vegetable stands in Chinatown. But, she discovered magic in England and she loved Grandmother, Grandfather and Renny. She loved her room, with its pink blanket and big window.

"Maybe I can come home to visit you in the summer?" Rosie asked shyly. "I wouldn't be any trouble at all."

"We'll see Rosie. You know that summer is fire season and I am usually busy." Dad brushed her off lightly. Dad always used his job as a fire fighter as an excuse not to spend time with her, even before Mom died. "I have a surprise Rosie, look here."

He pulled out his phone and showed her a picture of a golden puppy. "This is Hopper," he said and added jovially, "your little brother."

Rosie loved dogs, she gave Mops a deep scratch behind his floppy ear, but was not excited about Hopper one bit. Dad wouldn't take care of her, but had enough time to take care of a little puppy?

"He's cute," she said stiffly, "I'm going to bed now." She stood up, interfering in Mops' nap. She kissed both her grandparents soundly, then hovered for a second in front of Dad. "Goodnight," she muttered and ran upstairs.

She lay on her bed feeling sorry for herself over her Dad's indifference. Rosie remembered eavesdropping on a conversation Mom had with Grandmother over the phone after one of his infrequent visits.

"Keith loves pretending to be a better father than he is," Mom said, "Rosie is starting to pick up on that. She can see through his presents and platitudes, even though she is only nine." She listened to something Grandmother said, and laughed, "yes she is extremely perceptive, I fear for her teenage years."

* * *

Like most children, Rosie was the first out of bed on Christmas morning. In the stillness of the winter morning, Rosie picked up the match, closed her eyes, and remembered the feeling of magic and the warmth of fire. She felt the heat at her fingers and opened her eyes. Rosie quickly blew it out. She did it! She grabbed another match and tried again, closed her eyes and pictured it. She smelt the fire this time before she felt it.

She woke up Mops and took him outside for a quick walk in her yellow coat over red pyjamas. She resisted waking her grandparents for a whole hour, until she couldn't wait any longer. She opened their bedroom door and sent Mops in first. He dutifully jumped onto their bed and slobbered all over their faces.

"Ugh! Mops! Get down, boy." Grandfather groggily sat up and spotted Rosie, peering in through the doorway.

"Merry Christmas my girl," he smiled widely at her. She jumped into the bed with them. Grandmother sleepily turned over and encased Rosie in a stifling hug. The three of them snuggled together for a while, until Rosie wriggled out and impatiently huffed at them.

"Okay, okay," Grandmother put on her glasses, "I suppose you'll be wanting some presents."

"Yes!" Rosie exclaimed.

"Go wake up your father and put some tea on." Grandmother ordered. "We'll be down in a minute."

Rosie scrambled up, calling Mops to her side and knocked on the door of the spare room. "Dad," she called, "It's morning!" She waited until she heard a grumble and then flew downstairs to make tea.

* * *

They sat around the Christmas tree in the sitting room with tea and biscuits and jam on the coffee table. Rosie and Grandmother had decorated the tree with homemade ornaments from over the years and stringed popcorn.

Rosie opened her present from Dad, tearing through the tissue paper to find a envelope. Inside was £100!

"That's quite a lot of money for a girl," Grandfather said, "we'll have to put that in your savings account."

Rosie nodded and grinned at Dad, who mouthed 'buy whatever you want' followed by a wink.

Grandmother handed her a big package wrapped in red and green paper. Rosie messily ripped through the paper and revealed a Children's Chemistry Set, with 125 unique experiments.

"Thank you Grandmother, thank you Grandfather," Rosie happily exclaimed, giving them both tight hugs.

* * *

Rosie spent Christmas morning at the dining table, snacking on mince pies, and going through different experiments, stealing eggs, vinegar, and other supplies from the kitchen as needed. Around 2pm, she was told to pack up and help prepare Christmas dinner in the kitchen. She helped prepare the turkey, roast Brussel sprouts, potatoes, and carrots, bake Yorkshire puddings and whisk up some thick gravy. She was even given total control of the Christmas trifle.

The doorbell rung from the porch, and Rosie tore off her apron to greet their guests. She let in Renny and Aunt Emily and took their coats. Rosie gave Renny a parody book about Lancelot that she bought at Hyde Park the day before. She knew he would find it hilarious. He gave her a thick book about astronomy, and teased, "I thought you might be nearly finished with your obsession with plants and fairy tales."

She stuck her tongue out at him and they sat together in front of the fire, reading their new books until dinner. The astronomy book was full of information and beautifully illustrated. Renny might be right, stargazing sounded like a wonderful new hobby.

After a giant and delicious dinner, and what Grandmother called 'a perfectly made trifle', Rosie was fuller than she thought possible. Grandmother suggested they bundle up and go on a walk outside and look at Christmas lights. It would help with their digestion, she insisted.

* * *

The night was still and cold. Snow flakes glistened as they fell softly on Rosie's hat and shoulders. Rosie and Renny were pointing out constellations to each other as they walked.

Then, Aunt Emily started coughing severely. She was wheezing and gasping, and began to panic and riffle through her purse. Rosie knew she was searching for her puffer, Aunt Emily was asthmatic. Grandmother immediately hurried over to help.

Rosie saw it happen as if in horrible slow motion, Grandmother's foot slipped on the ice and her whole body went up into the air.

But instead of crashing down on the ice, Grandmother flipped all the way around and fell lightly on her bum.

Aunt Emily had finally found her puffer and started to calm down. Everyone was staring wide-eyed at Grandmother, sitting calmly on the ice. Then, all at once, Grandfather went to help Grandmother stand up, making sure she was okay and Renny went to rub Aunt Emily's back and check on her. Rosie smiled slyly. She did magic again! But this time she had done something good. It was a much better feeling.

She met Dad's eyes. He was looking directly at her and he was not smiling at all. His green eyes assessed Rosie critically, his lips downturned in a slight frown.

* * *

Back at home, Renny and Aunt Emily were laughing with Grandmother at her crazy flip, joking that she should join the circus. Dad was having a tense conversation with Grandfather in the kitchen. "Don't even try to tell me that I didn't see what I saw, Henry." Dad was hissing furiously.

Rosie peered thought the doorway and immediately met Grandfather's eyes. He darted his eyes upstairs, his face tense and rigid. Message received, Rosie bade goodnight to the trio in the sitting room and went upstairs for bed.

She woke early the next morning and stretched widely, then touched her toes and reached towards the ceiling. She pulled open the match box and lit three matches in quick succession. Smiling smugly, she got dressed into faded jeans and a Grandmother-made grey woollen sweater and went downstairs to greet Mops.

Grandmother was already awake and bustling around the kitchen, frying up eggs and sausages.

"Good morning Grandmother!" Rosie greeted as she gave Mops a kiss on his soft nose, "what are you doing awake?" Rosie was always the first up in the morning.

"Your father had to leave early this morning," Grandmother said tightly.

"Leave? Like back to Canada?" Rosie asked confusedly as she stole a sausage off the frying pan, "he was supposed to stay for another week."

"Yes, I'm sorry Rosie, something came up."

"But, he didn't even say goodbye," Rosie leaned against the counter, thinking hard. "He saw me do magic," Rosie concluded, "yesterday, when you fell."

Grandmother considered her next words carefully as she attended to the eggs, "Grandfather told you that Hermione's magic began to heal after many years. For a while, it was much like yours is now. She couldn't control it very well and Keith was not pleased."

"That's why they divorced," Rosie said, clarity overtaking the confusion about her parents' failed marriage, "because he hates magic." Rosie was beginning to understand exactly what had happened. Dad had left her, again. This time because of her magic, rather than Mom's.

Grandmother said nothing, her mouth in a tight line and her hands clenched together, "He is ignorant and foolish Rosie."

"He doesn't want me." Rosie said vacantly.

"Maybe not, but that hardly matters," Grandmother said, looking very much like Mom, "you belong here, with us."

"Even though I'm a witch?" Rosie asked hesitantly, thinking of Grandmother's reaction to the burning bench.

"Of course," Grandmother said firmly, pouring Rosie tea and handing her a plate full of breakfast.


	9. The Jar of Flames

9: The Jar of Flames

It was March 16th, her eleventh birthday, which serendipitously fell on a Saturday. She was up before the sun rose. Today, she would get her Hogwarts letter! She would be invited to a magical school where she would learn how to transform things and transport instantly. Rosie shivered with excitement. Her unease concerning magic, about things like obliviators and dark curses, was immensely overshadowed by the exhilaration of magic.

Rosie could now light and extinguish a match with relative ease. As the winter melted into spring Rosie began spending time back in her favourite clearing in the woods. She set up her fire pit and piled it with balled up paper towel. She sat on the ground with her eyes closed for an hour at a time, focused on creating fire. Weeks went by with no progress at all, no spark, no heat.

Rosie was by herself on the morning of her birthday, sitting crossed legged in front of the sitting room fireplace, shadowed in the dim pre-dawn light. Dressed in a flannel top and jeans with her wavy brown hair in pigtails she shoved a wad of paper towels into the fireplace.

Taking deep breaths she concentrated hard. She pictured fire, the feeling of its heat on your skin and the sharp smell of smoke; she imagined flames and the glowing heat of coals. She peeked one eye open to find bright red flames, dancing around the fireplace. She excitedly pointed out her success to Mops, who looked up for a moment before falling back asleep on the Persian rug. It had taken her months of diligent focus and many rolls of paper towels to succeed, but she did it. Impulsively, she stuck her hand directly in the flames.

Rosie knew that fire would burn her, but was less sure about magical fire. It was _her_ fire after all. She made it and controlled it. The flames licked around her hand painlessly; she was right. Rosie scooped up the flames into the palm of her hand. Entranced at her creation, she slowly poured the flames into her left hand. She carefully stood up, careful not to jostle the flames, and went into the basement pantry. The Botany Collection was nearly empty after her failed potions experiments in the fall. She awkwardly opened an empty jar with one hand and poured the flames inside. She shut the lid and watched the fire persist, even without oxygen!

Rosie wanted to call Renny on the phone to tell him, but it was too early. Months earlier, she had decided that she would no longer abide by the warning of the clumsy man who obliviated Renny that day in London. She was a witch, and would do what she liked and tell who she liked. And she liked Renny a great deal. Rosie visited Renny at the library quite often after school. They spent afternoons reading books and goofing around, building book forts or playing hide and seek among the shelves. One day, she showed him the trick with the match. He made her do it five more times before he believed she wasn't tricking him, each time she succeeded he grinned larger and became more exuberant. Renny was the best, he accepted magic just as easily the second time as he did the first. Rosie was certain that he would be safe from the obliviators as long as he kept her secret.

After stowing The Jar of Flames in her backpack hanging in the porch, Rosie cheerfully trod into the kitchen and flicked on the electric kettle. Mops followed her around the cottage until she fastened his leash and put on her wellies. She took him for a walk through the wet woods, still and quiet save for the occasional birdsong.

* * *

A visitor greeted her upon her return. A small brown owl was perched on the outdoor railing, staring at her inquisitively and, Rosie thought, a tad judgmentally. It had a creamy letter in its beak. Rosie forced the barking Mops inside and faced the owl, considering how to proceed. She reached out to take it, but the owl jumped around so it was facing the house with its back to Rosie. Stubborn creature! Rosie dashed inside and grabbed a bag of beef jerky from a kitchen drawer. She held out a large piece for the bird, who spread its wings and grabbed it out of her hand, dropping the letter on the wet ground. Rosie wondered why wizards didn't just transport mail instantly, rather than having to convince an animal to cooperate. Maybe they could only move themselves instantly, not objects, she hypothesized.

Sitting inside at the table, she opened the dripping envelope. The wax was sealed with a large 'H'. Two pieces of thick paper were inside. She unfolded the first letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Callisto Black

Dear Ms. Shepherd,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Maximillian Gamp

Deputy Headmaster

The second letter was a list of requirements. Rosie needed lots of black clothes. Rosie grimaced at the thought of having to wear black dresses at magic school, she hated both black and dresses. She needed standard spell books, history books, theory books, books on charms and transfigurations, and books on magical plants and animals. _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ and _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ were particularly intriguing. That's why her potions failed, she realized, she needed magical plants to make magical potions. Magical beans, maybe, or Ents. Well, hopefully not Ents.

* * *

To celebrate her birthday, the family went to the ocean side. Wrapped up in warm sweaters and scarfs to resist the biting winds rolling off the ocean, Rosie searched for sea shells and other oceanside treasures, making sure to take samples of seaweed and mysterious ocean plants that had washed on shore.

Grandmother found a dry spot high on the beach and laid out a big blanket. They sat down and had tuna sandwiches and thermoses of tea.

"I got my Hogwarts letter this morning," Rosie said casually, taking a big slurp from the thermos.

"We had no idea. You don't seem giddy at all," Grandmother said sarcastically.

"Did you know that I'll get a magic wand?" Rosie inquired excitedly, spilling some tea down her front.

"Of course you'll need a magic wand!" Grandfather said, "how else would you do magic?"

Rosie rolled over towards her backpack to show them The Jar of Flames.

"I did this earlier today," she said, presenting the glass jar with bright flames still persisting within.

Grandfather reached out for it, the jar was warm and bright. "How splendid!" He exclaimed, "Hermione never showed us anything like this," using the jar to warm his hands. "How did you know how to make it?"

"I didn't know how," said Rosie, with a gleam in her golden eyes, "just trial and error."

"Clever girl," Grandmother praised, taking the jar from Grandfather to warm her hands.

Rosie was pleased she didn't get in trouble for unsanctioned experimentation.

On the way back to the car, Rosie walked in between her grandparents, "Mom was attacked by a dark wizard," she began, "will I be okay at Hogwarts?" Her anxieties had grown since that day Renny was obliviated, and only made worse with knowledge about her Mom's curse, Harry's secrets and when she had unwittingly set the obliviators on Abby.

Grandmother and Grandfather were silent, contemplating their own anxieties about Rosie's upcoming year.

Grandfather finally spoke, "I don't know Rosie. Magical society has many issues. Twenty years ago, it was not safe and your mother was in constant danger."

"But," Grandmother added, "you are not Muggleborn. Which was Hermione's primary issue. Your mother was a witch."

"When Hermione was just a teenager she ended up in the middle of a civil war. Purebloods wanted to eliminate Muggleborns from the magical gene pool, for some inane reason." Grandfather said seriously, "I do not know what magical society is like today. Those who fought on behalf of Muggleborns won the war, perhaps society has changed."

"But no matter what you find Rosie, you must be very careful to not put yourself in vulnerable situations. Harry has assured us that you will be safe at Hogwarts, but try to not draw attention. Hermione became very well-known after the war, and I believe she was attacked to be made an example of."

Rosie stopped to pick up a shell. She needed to stay sharp at Hogwarts. She couldn't let her guard down around people who can kill, erase memories and curse with just a word.

At home Rosie opened her birthday present, a huge box wrapped in purple paper. She opened the box to reveal a large, shiny black telescope with a long barrel. It had five different lenses and a thick user guide. Rosie knew she was given something very special, and suspected that it was quite a high end telescope. "Just wait until your fancy pureblood classmates see that," Grandmother said saucily.

* * *

On July 20th, Rosie and her grandparents set off together for London. They had just returned from a week in France. Rosie was tanned and especially freckled, her light brown hair streaked with warm blondes from her time in the Riviera sun. She was wearing jean short overalls with her faded pink t-shirt underneath, her red backpack was with packed with her school list, the Jar of Flames, and a picture of Mom with her two friends, she planned on asking Harry about Redboy.

They ascended the escalators from the tube and went back to Cafe Paris, imitating her journey with Renny nearly a year before. The cafe looked the same, with bland art and beige walls. The absence of Mr. Wallington certainly made it drabber.

They sat in the corner table and waited for Harry Potter. Grandmother was bouncing her leg and Grandfather was pretending to read the newspaper. Rosie stared at the door.

The bell on the cafe door dinged and the green eyed wizard entered. He was wearing normal clothes, jeans, a red t-shirt and sneakers. Harry spotted the family and walked over with a grin. "Hello Grangers!"

"Hi Harry!" Rosie nearly yelled, her anticipation for the day ahead bursting out of her. Grandmother shot her a look.

"Take a seat, Harry," Grandmother intoned politely. Harry pulled out a chair beside Rosie, shooting her another smile and a wink. He seemed excited to see her too, Rosie thought.

"We would like to apologize for last summer. We were still shaken up over Hermione's death and over-protective of Rosie." Grandmother said, with difficulty. She hated admitting when she was wrong. "With that in mind, I believe the two of you should spend the day together without us. I'm sure Rosie has one thousand questions for you, and I am loathe to draw extra attention to her with our… muggliness." She finished.

Harry laughed aloud at 'muggliness' but quickly adopted a somber look, "no apology necessary, Mrs. Granger. I would be happy to escort Rosie today, I'm sure we will have many things to discuss."

Grandmother reached into her purse and gave Rosie an old-fashioned key and a wad of cash. "This is Hermione's vault key for the wizard bank, and some extra money for your school supplies."

"But no extravagant purchases," Grandmother lectured, and then said to Harry, "please keep an eye on her in the bookstore."

Rosie took the cash and the key and stored them in secret pockets inside her backpack, assuring her grandparents of her fiscal responsibility.

"Harry," Grandfather said, "would you mind bringing her home as well?"

Harry agreed and stood up, holding his hand for Rosie to take. She hesitated, until she saw Grandmother nod sharply.

"Bye Gran, bye Gramp," the eleven year old bid her grandparents goodbye, and left with Harry towards the wizarding world.

* * *

They crossed the street and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Rosie took a deep breath as she stepped in. She could feel the warmth and thickness of the air, what she now identified as magic.

"Welcome back to The Leaky Cauldron," Harry pulled Rosie into a private room near the back. He pulled the curtain shut and turned towards Rosie.

"Hello." He smiled broadly.

"Hello." She giggled as his enthusiasm.

"Now, this restaurant happens to be the secret entrance into the world of magic," He whispered conspiratorially, "but I'm afraid you don't look like a witch at all."

She looked down at her outfit: pink shirt, jean overalls, and white sneakers. "Neither do you!" She accused, "I mean, like a wizard."

Harry laughed, "Right you are, Small Hermione," he winked.

Harry then pulled a wand out of nowhere and waved it around himself. His normal outfit transformed instantly. He was now wearing a blue dress, robe, she self-corrected.

Harry then pointed the wand at Rosie. She flinched. Harry frowned, "I'm sorry, I should have warned you. This is a magical wand," he gestured towards the long, knobbly stick he held, "as I'm sure you guessed. I am going to transfigure your clothes, that is, change them, into normal witch clothes. Is that alright?"

"Alright," Rosie conceded, "but will you be able to change them back?"

"Yes, yes, transfiguration is only temporary," Harry muttered, then waved his wand and Rosie's clothes became a long pink dress with long, baggy sleeves. It was surprisingly soft for being fake, she thought.

"Why can't we wear normal clothes?" Rosie queried, inspecting her soft pink robe, discovering large pockets lined with a silk stripped pattern.

"The magical world is very separate from the muggle world. We would stand out very much if we prowled around Diagon Alley in muggle clothes." He explained.

"And what's wrong with standing out?" She persisted stubbornly.

"Nothing at all!" Harry smiled again at Rosie, he couldn't seem to help it, "but unfortunately, I am quite famous, and don't need any extra help on that front. I want you to enjoy yourself without being stared at."

"Famous?" Rosie asked skeptically, Harry seemed kind of dorky, but very self-assured and quite handsome, with his messy black hair and striking eyes.

"Yes, there was a bit of business many years ago involving a dark, mad wizard and his vanquishing. Honestly, your Mom deserved more credit that I. But people still make a big fuss over it." He finished with an exaggerated sigh.

"You and Mom vanquished a dark wizard?" Rosie raised her eyebrows.

"Yes, indeed! And Ron too, of course, he helped a bit."

Rosie opened her red bag and pulled out the picture of Mom, Harry and Redboy. "Is this Ron?" She asked.

Harry took the picture and nodded affirmatively, "that's Ron."

"Did they date?" Rosie asked bluntly.

"Er," Harry started awkwardly, "For awhile, yes, but that was a very long time ago."

"Can you show me some more magic?" She asked, changing the subject to her obsession.

Harry gave her the picture back, "what would you like to see?"

"I dunno, something amazing." Rosie replied.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping his fingers against the table. Then in a split second, Harry was gone and in his place was a large falcon, with white feathers speckled with black and Harry's green eyes. Rosie approached the falcon and started to crouch to get a better look. The Falcon hopped onto the seat of the chair, then hopped again onto the table. Rosie laughed aloud. It looked very silly to see such a majestic creature hop around like a chicken. The Falcon butted its head against her hand and cawed annoyingly hopping around the table some more.

"That's amazing." Rosie breathed, "what kind of magic is that?" She felt silly asking a bird questions, but she was _pretty_ confident that it was Harry.

The Falcon instantly turned back into Harry, now sitting on the table. He jumped off and answered her, "that's a type of advanced transfiguration called the Animagus transformation. I can become that Falcon whenever I like, even without a wand."

"But," he continued, "my animagus form is a secret, so please don't tell anyone that Harry Potter can become a falcon, it would make sneaking around much more difficult."

"Why, because you're _so_ famous?" Rosie teased. She was pleased that he was trusting her with a secret so soon. Before he could answer, she asked, "can I show you some of my magic?"

Harry looked very curious, and sat down on the chair holding his chin in his hand, "please do."

Rosie opened her bag again and pulled of the Jar of Flames, still burning brightly even after four months. "I made this," she gestured proudly.

Harry reached out for the jar and peered inside, assessing it for a few minutes. "This is very well done Rosie. But, how did you do it?" His face betraying his confusion, "you don't have a wand yet, do you?"

"No," Rosie responded, "I just did it." She held out her right arm, palm facing upwards. Within seconds flames were in her palm, a trick she had been working on for months. She made the the flames grow larger and then made them smaller. She closed her hand into a fist, and they extinguished.

Harry was speechless, his mouth hanging open.

"Well?" Rosie prompted, eager to hear more praise. When he still didn't say anything, she asked worriedly, "Will I be very far behind in school? I know most other kids have magical families and probably know all kinds of things…"

"No," Harry finally responded, "You will certainly not be behind other kids." He saw the nervousness in Rosie's eyes and quickly reassured her, "that was fantastic Rosie."

Rosie grinned, she knew it was fantastic. But she liked hearing it all the same.

"Like, really amazing." Harry said again, "you don't know how incredible this is, do you?"

"I know it's amazing," she said with a smile, "it's magic!"

"Rosie," Harry said, eyes darting between her and the Jar of Flames, "witches and wizards are unable to do magic without wands."

Rosie considered that. Harry saw what she did to Abby Winter. "But you know I can do magic," she started, "Grandmother called you when I hurt that girl at school."

"That was different," Harry said, "that was accidental, all magical children do things like that, but this controlled, purposeful magic without a wand…"

"If children can do magic accidentally, why can't they do it purposefully?" Rosie asked, feeling like she had done something wrong.

"I don't actually know…" Harry looked up at her, a grin returning to his face, "but it doesn't matter. I don't know of any witches or wizards that can use wandless magic like that… maybe Dumbledore. It's amazing!"

"Want to see again?"


End file.
